The Trash Lady Who Stole the Duke's First Night
Chapter 39
Elio opened her eyes wide.
“Older Sister?”
“Why bring up Grita all of a sudden?”
Elio studied Carlos’s slightly arched brow and quiet gaze before turning her head away.
“Just because. Sir Grita seems to have romantic feelings for you. …I was wondering if you were aware.”
Carlos frowned as if she were talking nonsense.
“We’re just senior and junior knights. We’ve simply known each other for a long time.”
“…Just senior and junior? You’re awfully confident. How can you be sure how feelings might change between a man and a woman?”
Habitually placing a cigar between his lips, Carlos closed his dry eyes for a moment. Then, without lighting it, he crushed the cigar back into its case.
“Fine. Maybe a relationship could shift into something else. All I’m saying is that neither of us feels anything of that sort toward the other.”
“…If you acknowledge the possibility of a different relationship, you should also acknowledge the possibility that Grita has romantic feelings. Aren’t you curious at all about what she thinks?”
“……I don’t see the point of this conversation. Grita has no such feelings for me. Nor do I care what’s on her mind.”
Carlos swept his bangs back and shifted closer, sitting right beside her.
“Did Grita say something to you?”
“Like what?”
“Anything.”
“……No. She didn’t say much. Only that you pity me deeply.”
Carlos stared at her quietly, then caught her by the chin and turned her face toward him. Biting her lip, Elio did not look away.
“So. Are you angry?”
“No. If I look pitiful, then that’s just how it is. It’s not like I can do anything about how you feel.”
“……As if you know how I feel.”
The fingers holding her chin brushed against her lips.
Elio flinched reflexively, her shallow breath hitching, before reaching out and taking hold of his chin in the exact same manner.
With only a single window cracked open in the vast conference hall, the air hung still, specks of dust drifting through the beams of sunlight.
“What. Copying me again?”
He let go of her face with a faint, amused smile.
“Then how do I look to you?”
Elio hesitated, still holding his sharp jaw, before letting her hand fall. He let out a low chuckle and guided her hand up against his cheek.
“What were you trying to do?”
“Answer me first. How do I look to you?”
“Like a kid.”
Elio pressed her palm firmly against his cheek.
“Where would you ever find a kid as grown as me?”
Carlos chuckled at her retort, closed his eyes, and leaned back against the chair. Elio watched his hair flutter in the faint summer breeze slipping through the window, her gaze lingering on his tunic, still slightly damp with sweat, before she bit her lip.
Sitting motionless with his eyes shut, like a lion surrendering itself to a herbivore, the man was utterly serene—except for the taut vein pulsing along his throat.
“……Sir. I’ve read a lot of romance novels.”
Elio gently brushed her fingertips over his lips. Before she could even gauge his reaction, the sudden heat flaring in her fingertips made her pull back in a hurry, drawing a low chuckle that shook his broad chest.
“Wh-Why are you laughing?”
“For someone who reads so many novels, your touch is rather timid, my lady.”
“I-I was just copying you! You’re always wiping my mouth with your hand, so of course I ended up copying you.”
Carlos smirked, opening his eyes, and examined the wound on her thumb that he had been holding down with his left hand.
“And what if you’ve read a lot of romance novels?”
Muttering that it felt like raising an adolescent girl, he rested his forearms on either side of her thighs, trapping her within his space.
“Thinking about those pretty boys again?”
“Why do you keep bringing them up? I’m just saying I understand how men and women work. I’m quicker on the uptake than you about what Sir Grita feels.”
“Seems pretty dense to me.”
Carlos let out a dry laugh.
Elio stealthily scooted back to put even an inch of distance between them.
“What were you trying to ask about Older Sister?”
Elio lightly tapped his forearm, startled by how rock-hard it felt. Carlos leaned back against the chair again and rubbed his face in fatigue.
“They say the reason monsters are becoming increasingly rampant… is because dragons have gone completely extinct.”
Elio blinked at the sudden statement.
“I don’t believe dragons are extinct.”
“E-Extinct is the accepted truth, though? Even little kids know all the dragons died four hundred years ago during the Great Calamity. And you even killed the last corrupted dragon that was alive!”
“The last southern subjugation was a wild-goose chase. It wasn't an Evil Dragon, just a Lizard. For hundreds of them to have vanished entirely, there are still traces of dragons left behind. Extinction during the Great Calamity is merely a prevailing theory, so maybe there's an uncorrupted, sane one still alive.”
Elio swallowed hard, her throat constricting.
“You want to find a dragon?”
“Yeah.”
“…Why?”
“To kill it.”
At the man’s blunt reply, Elio’s furrowed eyes flew wide open.
“Even when you’re already a dragon slayer? You want to kill more? For knightly honor?”
Carlos laughed softly.
“Is that why you like strong women…? To hunt down corrupted dragons together?”
Elio curled her fingers tight, fixing her gaze solely on the continental map hanging on the blackboard. It was disheartening enough that she couldn't appear as a strong woman, but getting caught picking at her nails like a child made it even worse.
Carlos wrapped a handkerchief over Elio’s thumb, holding it gently as he quietly looked at her. Taking in her frightened, pale face, he lightly stroked the soft back of her hand.
“If I kill a dragon… how would you feel?”
“……Wh-What if you get hurt trying to kill it? Dragons breathe Breath, and they’re humongous…. And I heard corrupted dragons lose all reason, attacking without caring how badly they’re injured. You know better than anyone how much more dangerous that makes them!”
Elio stammered as the myths she had read rushed through her mind.
How ferocious and cruel dragons became when corrupted, and how the heroes had eradicated them.
There were times she had suffered nightmares after reading those terrifying myths detailed with gruesome realism.
How painful it must have been to be slashed by the heroes’ blades. How agonizing it must have been to die.
They too must have loved humans once. They must never have wanted to kill humans.
Whenever Elio fell asleep after reading those pitiful, frightening tales, she dreamed endlessly of being pierced by swords.
Older Sister had told her that if anyone ever asked about dragons, she must always say they were useless, corrupted monsters in the human world that had gone extinct long ago.
She had even personally taught her revised myths that vividly recounted the rampages of heartless dragons and the triumphs of heroes.
“Not a corrupted Evil Dragon. What if I kill an ordinary dragon?”
“…Why?”
With the man merely watching her without an answer, Elio wet her lips, trying to act calm. Even as she tried to compose herself, her heart pounded violently. *Not even corrupted, not even an Evil Dragon. Why kill it? Do you hate dragons?*
Elio’s wavering eyes slowly shifted toward his pendant.
“…E-Even if they aren’t extinct, killing a dragon during the rainy season when monster energy surges is reckless. Getting hit by Breath doesn’t just end with getting injured. Almost no one can dodge it. Haven’t you never seen Breath either, Sir? Of course, they say there are weak dragons like the White Dragon, but most are insanely strong…! You can’t always win. I mean, of course I trust you, but it’s just too dangerous.”
When Elio’s hand kept trembling, Carlos frowned and clasped her entire hand in his.
“I-I really don’t want you to kill a dragon. Please don’t. You could get seriously hurt.”
The man asked back with a slightly dazed look.
“……You’re worried about what happens if I get hurt?”
Elio nodded rapidly.
Carlos stared at her grave face before bursting into laughter. Seeing how soft-hearted she was—just as delicate as her flower-bud-like appearance—he decided he ought to leave her safely tucked away in his bedroom when he set out on the subjugation.
Wiping the lingering amusement from his face, he rested her small hand on his palm, turning it this way and that.
“What were you so scared of?”
Elio scrutinized his expression as he smiled gently as if it had all been a joke, then quickly turned her head away and pursed her lips. She curled her unsightly thumb tightly inward.
“…I told you, I wasn’t scared.”
“Then what were you doing left alone earlier? Debating whether to join the subjugation or not?”
Elio parted her hesitant lips.
“…I was thinking about it deeply, yes. Why you only call me by my family name. It’s not right to discriminate among your knights, even in small things. You should treat everyone fairly. You’re the Commander, after all.”
Carlos raised an eyebrow as if asking what she was talking about.
“You only called me by my family name. Aquitaine.”
Carlos tilted his head slightly. He gazed at the woman who refused to look at him, her soft lips pressed together in a sulk.
Had he really only called her by her surname? He couldn't quite recall.
Whether it had slipped out because he was thoroughly reluctant to let her join the subjugation, he wasn't sure himself.
And he wondered if it was truly that big of a deal—enough to make those dainty lips pout so visibly.
“What’s wrong with using your family name? Aquitaine is your name.”
Carlos lifted the handkerchief slightly to check the torn nail. It was deep enough that a Potion didn't heal it instantly. A sigh escaped through his teeth.
Elio, who had been curling her toes tight while glaring fixedly at the blackboard, snapped her head around.
“Should I call you Madam Schuppenhardt, then?”
“That’s not what I mean! Would you like it if I only addressed you as the Young Duke of Schuppenhardt?”
Her face flushed bright red, Elio shook the wrist he was holding in exasperation.
“What is there to like or dislike about it?”
“I told you not to pour it…! What a waste…!”
“Then why did you pick at it? If you’re scared, speak up instead of tearing at your nails.”
At Carlos’s cool response, Elio bit her lip hard.
She glared at the man who was casually wasting a Potion on a mere fingernail, then whipped her head away again. She wanted to pull her hand back, but he wouldn't let go.
As he wiped away the Potion trickling down her wrist, her earlobes burned hotter and hotter. Inhaling sharply as if puffing steam, she glared at the blackboard.
“Nirta.”
Carlos looked up. His eyebrow arched slightly.
“Kilian.”
“…….”
“Heil.”
“…….”
“Demian.”
Elio recited the given names—not the surnames—of the knights she had grown close to, steadfastly avoiding his pitch-black eyes.